My Father's New Wife Was My High School Rival – I Agreed to Call Her 'Mom,' but My Wedding Gift Made Her Scream, 'How Dare You?!'

The silver box sat on the gift table while Chloe smiled across the reception at me. My father still believed his new wife and I had shared ordinary high school drama. Then she told me to call her Mom in front of everyone. I agreed, handed her the box, and waited for one old lie to catch up with her.

My father was so excited about introducing me to his fiancée that he'd bought champagne for dinner.

That should have warned me.

My father was so excited about introducing me to his fiancée.

Dad wasn't a champagne-with-dinner man. He was a beer-in-a-frosted-glass man who believed paying $12 for a cocktail was evidence society had lost its way.

"She's younger than me," he admitted while checking the oven.

"How much younger?"

"She's younger than me."

He hesitated.

"Dad."

"Twenty-five years."

Which put her almost exactly my age.

I stared at him.

"Most geological formations are younger than you."

He laughed.

"I'm serious, Sandy. Don't make this weird."

"Twenty-five years."

"I'm not the one dating somebody who probably remembers a different Sesame Street cast, Dad."

He pointed a potholder at me.

"Behave."

I promised I would.

And I meant it.

I promised I would.

***

My mother had been gone for six years.

Dad had survived those first two by turning his company into a place he could hide until bedtime. Then came golf, dinners with friends, and one disastrous dating-app experience he refused to discuss.

My mother had been gone for six years.

So when he told me he'd met someone, I wanted it to work.

Her name was Chloe.

She taught yoga.

She made him laugh.

According to Dad, she was spontaneous, warm, and somehow capable of getting him to eat kale voluntarily.

She made him laugh.

Then the doorbell rang.

Dad practically jogged to answer it.

I heard a woman's voice.

A laugh.

Then they walked into the dining room.

And I forgot every joke I'd prepared.

I heard a woman's voice.

Chloe stopped too.

Only for a second.

She was older, obviously. So was I.

But I knew her.

I knew the tilt of her head when she was deciding how much somebody deserved to know.

I knew that smile.

I knew her.

"Sandy," Dad said, "this is Chloe."

Chloe recovered first.

"Sandy. Wow. It's been forever."

Dad looked between us.

"You two know each other?"

"High school," Chloe said.

Just that.

High school.

As if we'd once shared algebra.

"You two know each other?"

"You're kidding!" Dad grinned. "What are the chances?"

Pretty terrible, apparently.

***

Dinner began politely.

Chloe complimented the house.

Dad told the story of how they'd met at a charity event where she'd been teaching a beginner yoga session.

Dinner began politely.

I mostly listened.

Then Dad went to the kitchen for another bottle of wine.

Chloe waited until his footsteps reached the kitchen.

Then she picked up her glass.

"Your dad really hates conflict."

I mostly listened.

I looked at her.

"What does that mean?"

She took a sip.

"Nothing."

Dad returned.

Chloe smiled again.

I was 17 years old for approximately three seconds.

Then I wasn't.

I was a grown woman sitting at my father's dining table.

And Chloe couldn't send me running to a bathroom stall anymore.

"What does that mean?"

***

That night, after she left, Dad walked me to my car.

"Well?"

"She and I weren't friends," I admitted.

He frowned.

"Okay."

"She made high school pretty miserable for me."

"She and I weren't friends."

Dad leaned against the car.

"What happened?"

There were too many answers.

Rumors.

Invitations that turned out to be jokes.

Friends who suddenly stopped sitting with me because Chloe had decided I was entertaining to dislike.

"What happened?"

Three years of never knowing what version of myself had arrived at school before I did.

Chloe had always treated me like some kind of rival, though I'd never understood what competition she thought we were having.

"She bullied me."

Chloe had always treated me like some kind of rival.

Dad looked genuinely surprised.

"Chloe?"

"Yes, Chloe."

He was quiet.

"I'll talk to her."

I almost told him not to.

Instead I said, "Okay."

"I'll talk to her."

***

Two days later, he called.

"She remembers things differently."

Of course she did.

"She said there was silly teenage drama and everybody could be mean back then."

"Everybody wasn't, Dad."

"She remembers things differently."

"I know."

"Do you?"

"Sandy."

There was the tone.

The one parents use when they want everybody to calm down because calm feels suspiciously similar to solved.

"She says she's sorry if things got ugly," he added.

"If?"

"She says she's sorry if things got ugly."

Dad sighed.

"I'm not asking you to forget anything. I'm asking if you can give who she is now a chance."

I looked out my kitchen window.

"Sure."

That was my mistake.

"I'm asking if you can give who she is now a chance."

Not because people can't change.

They can.

But giving someone a chance isn't the same as volunteering to ignore what they do with it.

***

Chloe was never openly cruel around Dad.

She was smarter than that.

Chloe was never openly cruel around Dad.

She simply had a way of measuring things.

Who got invited.

Who sat where.

Whose plans changed.

Whose didn't.

When Dad and I had our usual Sunday lunch, Chloe began joining us.

She simply had a way of measuring things.

Then she began scheduling things on Sundays.

If Dad hesitated, she'd laugh.

"Sandy's an adult. She'll understand."

I usually did.

At Christmas, she rearranged dinner around a party she wanted to attend.

If Dad hesitated, she'd laugh.

Dad called me.

"You don't mind coming at three instead, right?"

"I guess."

"Thanks, sweetheart."

At a fundraiser, Chloe introduced him to someone by saying, "Robert sits on the board."

Not "This is Robert."

Not even "This is my fiancé."

His title first.

Then him.

"Robert sits on the board."

Maybe none of those things meant anything alone.

Together, they felt familiar.

I just couldn't explain why without sounding like I was still keeping score from high school.

So I stopped trying.

Together, they felt familiar.

***

Eight months later, Dad married her.

The wedding was held at a hotel where somebody's full-time job appeared to be making sure no champagne glass ever became more than half empty.

There were white flowers everywhere.

A string quartet during cocktails.

Dad married her.

Chloe wore a custom gown Dad had paid for and looked exactly as happy as a bride should.

For most of the evening, I stayed out of her way.

Then came the gifts.

I stayed out of her way.

Chloe had insisted on opening a handful from close family while the smaller group of relatives and friends still gathered near the reception tables.

Dad opened a watch from his brother.

Chloe opened crystal glasses from an aunt.

Dad opened a watch from his brother.

Then her eyes found me.

"Sandy."

I was holding my champagne.

"What?"

She smiled.

That smile again.

"Now that we're officially family, I think you should start calling me Mom."

"I think you should start calling me Mom."

Several people laughed.

Dad did too.

He put his arm around Chloe.

"That's going to take some getting used to."

Chloe wasn't looking at him.

She was watching me.

Several people laughed.

We had gone to school together.

We were practically the same age.

Nobody in that room believed she sincerely expected me to think of her as my mother.

But she wanted me to say it.

The old sensation returned.

Not fear exactly.

More like remembering a song you hated after hearing the first two notes.

She wanted me to say it.

Chloe waited.

She expected me to object.

Maybe snap.

Maybe remind everybody that she was my former classmate.

Then she'd get to look wounded.

I could practically see the story arranging itself.

Bitter daughter humiliates father's new bride.

She expected me to object.

I set down my glass.

Then I picked up my wedding gift to them, the silver box I'd placed on the table earlier.

"Of course, Mom."

Chloe blinked.

I smiled.

"Open your gift."

Dad laughed.

"Well, that was easier than expected."

"Open your gift."

Chloe gave the room a smug little smile and accepted the box.

"Thank you, Sandy."

She pulled off the ribbon.

Lifted the lid.

And turned white.

Inside was a cheap plastic crown.

The fake silver coating had rubbed away around the edges.

Inside was a cheap plastic crown.

Three cloudy rhinestones were missing.

Across the front, faded gold letters still read:

QUEEN OF EVERYTHING

Chloe stared at it.

Then at me.

"How dare you?!"

Chloe stared at it.

The room went silent.

Dad's smile disappeared.

"What is that?"

Chloe snapped the lid shut.

"Nothing."

I didn't move.

"You know what it is."

"What is that?"

Her eyes went straight to mine.

"That was high school."

Dad looked at her.

Then at me.

"What happened in high school?"

Chloe picked up her champagne.

"This is ridiculous."

"That was high school."

"Dad," I said, "not here."

That was the last thing Chloe expected.

I could tell because she glanced around at the guests.

She'd expected a fight.

A public one.

She'd expected a fight.

Instead, Dad asked us to follow him into a small sitting room off the ballroom.

He closed the door.

Then looked at me.

"Tell me."

I looked at Chloe.

She folded her arms.

"We were seventeen, Sandy."

"I know," I said.

"Tell me."

Dad waited.

So I told him about the crown.

It came from a school spirit event senior year.

Cheap carnival junk.

Chloe wore it because people thought it was funny.

At least, it was funny when you were standing beside her.

People thought it was funny.

That night, she'd invited me to a party.

The invitation surprised me because she'd spent months making sure I wasn't invited anywhere.

She told me there was a ridiculous dress theme.

I believed her.

I arrived dressed for it.

Nobody else was.

I believed her.

Chloe was waiting near the door wearing that crown. The moment I walked in, she took it off, set it on my head, and announced, "The queen of attention has arrived."

Someone took pictures. I tore the crown off in the bathroom and shoved it into my bag.

"The queen of attention has arrived."

By Monday, copies were everywhere.

So was the story Chloe attached to them.

That I'd dressed that way because I was desperate for attention.

That I'd begged to be invited.

That I couldn't understand when people were laughing at me.

By Monday, copies were everywhere.

***

"I didn't make you wear anything," Chloe said.

"No."

"I didn't force you to come."

"No."

"So now we're rewriting history?"

I looked at Dad.

"That's how it always worked. She'd set something up, then explain why technically none of it was her fault."

"I didn't force you to come."

Chloe laughed.

"This is insane. You're dragging teenage nonsense into my wedding because you're jealous."

"I'm not jealous."

"You brought me that."

She pointed toward the ballroom.

"I brought you a piece of our history," I said.

"I'm not jealous."

"As a threat?"

"No."

"Then why?"

That was a fair question.

I'd found the crown months earlier while clearing boxes from my storage closet.

For years, I'd forgotten I still had it.

"As a threat?"

The moment I saw it, I remembered exactly how powerful it had once seemed.

Then I held it in my hand.

It weighed almost nothing.

"I brought it because you kept pretending none of this happened."

Chloe turned to Dad.

"Do you see what she's doing?"

I remembered exactly how powerful it had once seemed.

He didn't answer.

She reached for the door.

I spoke before she opened it.

"Can I ask you something?"

Chloe looked back.

"You keep saying we were seventeen."

"We were," she snapped.

He didn't answer.

"So why did you need me to call you Mom today?"

Her hand stopped on the doorknob.

Dad looked at her.

Chloe said nothing.

"Because that wasn't a joke," I continued. "You were watching me. You wanted me to say it."

"It's what people call their stepmothers."

"You wanted me to say it."

"Not ones they graduated with."

Dad rubbed his forehead.

"Chloe, why did you ask her to do that?"

"It's a title, Robert." She stared at him. "I'm your wife now."

Dad nodded slowly.

"Yes."

"I'm your wife now."

"And she's your daughter."

"Yes."

Chloe gave a sharp little laugh.

"Then you understand."

Dad looked genuinely confused.

"Understand what?"

"Where everybody stands."

"And she's your daughter."

That quieted the room.

Dad straightened.

"She didn't ask you to call her anything."

Chloe stared at him.

"What?"

"You started this."

"This is our wedding and she brought that thing deliberately."

"You started this."

"After you told her to call you Mom in front of everybody."

"So you're taking her side."

"I'm your wife."

"And she's my daughter." Dad frowned. "This isn't a contest."

Chloe looked at him as if he'd said something unbelievably naive.

"Of course it is."

"I'm listening to her."

She picked up her champagne and took a drink.

Dad let her answer sit between them.

"Do you really think that?"

"I'm saying there are priorities in a marriage," she shot back.

"That's not what you said."

"Do you really think that?"

"Robert, please." She glanced toward the ballroom. "Do you know how this makes me look?"

Dad's eyes followed hers toward the door.

"That's what you're worried about?"

"There are a hundred people out there."

"And?"

"They're going to think your daughter can disrespect me at my own wedding and you let her."

"Do you know how this makes me look?"

Dad looked at me.

Then back at Chloe.

Something about him had gone very still.

"So Sandy wins," Chloe said.

Dad shook his head.

"That's exactly the problem, Chloe. You still think somebody has to."

"So Sandy wins."

She stared at him.

Then she put her champagne glass down.

"What happens now?"

Dad took a long breath.

"We go back to our reception."

Chloe blinked.

"That's it?"

"No."

He glanced at me.

"We finish this conversation later."

"What happens now?"

Then he looked at his wife.

"But Sandy isn't apologizing to you for refusing to play whatever this is."

Chloe froze.

Dad continued.

"And you are never asking her to call you Mom again."

For once, Chloe had no immediate answer.

Chloe froze.

***

Dad opened the door.

Music drifted in from the ballroom.

Chloe walked out first.

Dad started after her.

Then stopped beside me.

"Sandy."

"Yeah?"

"I kept asking you to make her comfortable."

Dad started after her.

I didn't answer.

"I thought I was keeping the peace."

I looked at him.

"It was peaceful for you, Dad."

He lowered his eyes.

For once, he didn't ask me to understand.

"It was peaceful for you, Dad."

***

Dad found me near the gift table twenty minutes later.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked.

"About Chloe?"

He nodded.

"Nothing for me," I said.

He looked surprised.

"Your marriage is yours, Dad. I just don't want you asking me to pretend anymore."

"Nothing for me."

"I won't."

The silver box was still there.

I opened it and picked up the crown.

Nearby, the photo booth had a basket of feather boas, oversized glasses, and plastic hats.

I dropped the crown among them.

That was where it belonged.

The silver box was still there.

Dad watched me, then glanced toward the ballroom where Chloe stood talking to guests.

"I have a lot to think about."

I smiled.

"Yeah."

He hugged me.

When he pulled away, he looked suddenly tired.

"I have a lot to think about."

"Can I call you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, Dad."

He squeezed my hand.

Then I walked toward the exit.

He squeezed my hand.